


A Song in the Dark

by WordStorm



Series: Teitovar ir Kruinbor Spinoffs [1]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Teitovar ir Kruinbor
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Singing, escaping mind control, spoilers for Caught in the Spider's Web Chapter 75
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordStorm/pseuds/WordStorm
Summary: There are more Little Spiders in Arachne's web than have yet been seen. One hears a distant song and has a revelation...or is it more of a revolution?Inspired by Caught in the Spider's Web, the demise that thatgirlfromasgard wrote for me back in October, and a resulting dream I had.
Series: Teitovar ir Kruinbor Spinoffs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134689
Kudos: 14





	A Song in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Caught in the Spider's Web](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481533) by [thatgirlfromasgard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlfromasgard/pseuds/thatgirlfromasgard). 



“Do you hear the people sing, singing the songs of angry men…”  
They stopped, ears twitching. Was that what they thought it was? They did not frown, but one corner of their mouth tilted down ever-so-slightly. The singing continued, and they glanced at the door. The little fly in the back of their mind stirred…  
Their tail lashed once, twice, and then the tendrils that tipped it were wrapped around the knob and turning. The door cracked open. The singing did not stop. One of their ears twitched. They should tell their master. That would be the right thing to do; they were a good little spider, they should tell their master.   
But something must be different that day, because instead of closing the door again and finding the closest _actual_ spider, they opened it further and stuck their head in.   
The little fly glared at them, still singing, and they bared their teeth back for the briefest of moments before their emotionless mask returned. They looked him over, cataloguing the things that should not-…this little fly had a tail. It was different than theirs; had a tuft of hair on the end instead of tentacle-like tendrils, but…none of the other little flies had other kinds of parts. Sally had his wings, but he wasn’t a fly anymore. Neither was the pink-and-gold robotic one that they’d never caught the name of.   
Their eyes met those of the still-singing and still-glaring little fly as their tail released the doorknob and swished down to brush the floor. They didn’t know the song, but the foolish fly that was _apparently still alive_ in their head wanted to sing too. They did not want to sing. They shoved Teithor - yes, that was their fly’s name, they remembered - back down forcefully.   
The naughty little fly was still singing and still glaring as they pulled the door shut behind them and continued down the hall. 

* * *

_**Something was watching them. Something powerful but not their master. Something was…humming? It…it sounded like whatever that little fly had been singing, but not quite. A different key. No, an entirely different song. The fly in their head knew this song. The fly in their head knew what was watching them…who was watching them.**_   
They awoke feeling distinctly unsettled and with Teithor much more of a presence than before. Not protesting, like they’d done back in the very very very beginning, just…waiting. They _should_ tell their master, let their master burn away the remnants of what they were before their master found them. That’s what they should do.   
But that is not what they did. Instead, they merely went about with their duties, doing their best to ignore the unwelcome original resident of their mind. Yet still they found themself outside the door of the naughty fly’s cell, their breath leaving fog on the metal. He wasn’t singing anymore, but they listened all the same, ears twitching from time to time at the other sounds nearby.   
After several moments of silence they stepped away, something oddly akin to disappointment lurking back where they could barely feel. Why did they want him to sing? He wasn’t supposed to be singing, unless their master allowed or ordered him to. But that would require him to accept their master’s mark, and if he’d done that then he would be out serving with them, not in a cell.   
They shook their head sharply and strode back down the hall. Surely they had more duties to attend to, and they would not risk their master’s disappointment, much less their wrath. 

* * *

**_Heat rippled up from the surface of a lava lake. Nylium spores flew on a lung-scorching wind.Twisting vines tangled about their limbs, holding them up as they hung above the lake’s surface, a trilling strider below. Someone was singing. They couldn’t quite catch the words. They swung on the vines…let go…they were freefalling…they were laughing…_**  
**_A massive brazier cast dancing shadows all around. Drumbeats and the sounds of stringed instruments filled the air. Someone was singing. Several someones were singing. People were dancing. The scent of food was thick…not the food their master gave, different foods, with different flavours. They were singing along. They were dancing. Another with golden eyes and traits like theirs was smiling at them._**  
Why in their master’s name had they been sleeping in a hallway? For that matter, why _this_ hallway? They stood smoothly, brushing dust that wasn’t actually there off of their jacket and taking in their surroundings. Aha…that was the singing fly’s door. But that didn’t answer _why_.   
They pressed their ear to the door, ignoring the cold. They were always cold, but they didn’t care; they would put up with anything for their master, wouldn’t they?   
The naughty little fly was singing again, not as strongly as before, but singing all the same. Why wouldn’t he just give in? It was more peaceful to serve their master.   
_Is it really?_  
Sssss…Teithor should not be talking. Teithor should be dead. They killed them when they took their master’s mark, and again when they could not bear the waiting feeling. But no, apparently Teithor was not dead. It had gotten its claws back in their head and it wasn’t letting them make it let go. Nasty little fly.  
**_A smiling face, brown eyes sparkling in the light from a fireplace as a warm voice and human-chill hands guided them through the process of carding wool. Soft baas, animal noses bumping their hands seeking the grain they held. The thrilling shivers of rainfall, watching steam rise from their skin from the cold. That brown-eyed woman singing as she spun a staff in her hand, the light of a summer morning all about her._**  
No! No, no, no. They hissed, pulling away from the door, ears flat and lip curled with irritation. They won’t let Teithor back in control. They won’t…they remembered things too, after all. Things that proved how much better they were now they were sworn to their master. The snarl turned to a flicker of a cruel, smug smile.  
_Don’t you remember, Teithor? Don’t you remember what you were not long after the weak memories you’re trying to show me? Don’t you remember even then how purposeless you were, despite your power?_  
A flash of anger and remorse from the nasty fly, but it didn’t back down. So, they showed it. Made it see again what they’d done. How they rose, how they fell, how in the end it was all for naught anyways; they didn’t actually _help_. They had no purpose. Their master gave them a purpose, and unlike the people before, these flies deserved what they got. Their master said so, and their master was always right.  
_I thought Peter was right too, remember?_ The nasty little fly sounded sad.   
Pfft. Peter wasn’t their master. Peter was just a human and not even a Worldwalker at that! Their master was a World _shaper_.   
Teithor was quiet for a while, and for a while they thought they’d won again, that that had been enough to make the nasty little fly shut up. They went about their duties, confident in their victory and the fact that they wouldn’t have to ask their master for help after all. They didn’t want to see what their master would do if they revealed they’d been letting their fly get its grip again.

* * *

Teithor, contrary to the ‘little spider’ that currently controlled their body, was far from defeated. They were just waiting again. Waiting for just the right moment. They also were pleased to find that they were stronger. Were memories the key? If so…perhaps they could spark another memory-fight. They’d endure the memories of what they regretted to win their freedom.  
Yes, they’d taken Arachne’s mark willingly, but how willing had it really been? Torture only produced what would halt the victim’s pain. Teithor had first seen that long, long ago. And as much as they didn’t _want_ to think about it, they would remember. Oh, they would remember _everything_ if it let them be back in control of their own body again. If it let them even put on some warmer clothes…this constant numbness was not something they had _ever_ enjoyed.  
So Teithor waited in silence, poking and prodding secretly within their mind to find the little nooks and crannies, the gaps that Arachne’s control had not been able to reach. And they hummed, quiet and low, the very tune that had caught their attention and given them the oomph to wake up again. They were a Xevar, with a mind made to resist the control of others. If the blond man could sing in defiance in the face of whatever Arachne had done, they could at least regain themself. Then they would do what they could to get him and the other captives out.   
Likely if they died they’d be kicked back to wherever they were before Arachne got them, which…they couldn’t quite remember where that was, but it wasn’t this server. It’d be awfully convenient if they respawned at the spawnpoint of this sever so they could warn and help, but considering they weren’t whitelisted…that was unlikely. Though…Arachne wasn’t whitelisted _anywhere_ , and they were able to go just about everywhere, including bringing Teithor with them, so perhaps there were some loopholes. Arachne was an admin, and Teithor knew _some_ admin ‘magic’ that luckily they’d managed to keep hidden from their ‘little spider’ self…hm. That was an idea to save for later if they could figure out what to do with that idea.   
But first things first. They needed to get their body back where the blond man was, hopefully at a time when he was singing. They didn’t actually know if his singing affected anything now that it’d woken them up, but hearing him at least gave them some confidence. Maybe they could exert enough subtle influence to be able to bring him some water, too. 

* * *

He darted to his feet as the door to his cell slowly opened, a widening sliver of light appearing on the floor before disappearing in the shadow of a person. His tail lashed about his legs in agitation as he set his stance, mentally preparing for…anything, really. He squinted against the light as the person - wait, that was the same one that just _stuck their head in_ and stared at him earlier.   
They closed the door behind them silently, a bucket of something in one hand and their tail wrapped loosely about their hips. There was no expression on their face, but for a moment Wels thought he saw something that might have been struggle. That was…interesting. He lifted his chin to look them right in the eyes, meeting blue whites and irises tainted with Arachne’s hellish green.   
The minion of Arachne stopped just out of arm’s reach and held out the bucket, head cocking to one side and pointed ears flicking. Whatever was in it sloshed…was that water? The reminder of how thirsty he was hit him like a blast from a wither skull, but before he could actually do anything, the person spoke, in a voice rough and rusty from disuse. Fangs flashed.  
“Do…do you want some water?”  
Wels shifted slightly, conflicted. Yes, yes he did want the water; but there had to be a catch.   
“What’s the catch?” His voice didn’t sound much better than theirs, now that he was thinking about it, just for the opposite reason.  
The little spider - or whatever Arachne called them - blinked, head straightening and ears twitching again. Their tail unwound from around their waist, something on the end of it curling and uncurling.   
“No catch. A bargain.” They grimaced as if in pain, the green _flickering_ briefly, a glimpse of what must be their real eye colour showing underneath for just a moment. “Just a bargain. No catch, no master.”  
Wels frowned, wary. “…what do you want?”  
Their eyes flickered again, and this time the blue lingered. “Sing again? If you will.” They clenched their jaw and held up the water bucket almost insistently. “If not, freely given.”  
Still wary, Wels reached out and took the bucket, swallowing against the thirst. The black-haired person before him stood still as stone, watching him. He kept an eye on them as he drank - after checking that it was actually water, of course. This could be a chance or it could be some twisted test. They did not move until he lowered the bucket, and even then it was only their tail lashing side-to-side behind them.  
“Why do you want me to sing?”  
His question seemed to startle them; for a moment pure confusion flooded their face, the twining tattoo by their left eye warping as they squinted. But confusion was quickly followed by struggle, then determination.  
“It helps. It reminds.” Blue-green-blue. A baring of fangs in a stubborn fierce humourless smile. Blue-green-blue-blue. “It woke me up again.”  
Wait, what? “What do you mean, woke you up?”  
Blue-green-blue-green-blue. Pointed ears laid back briefly. “Arachne’s control does not wholly replace. Merely suppresses. I slumbered. You sang, I remembered, I awoke.” A grin that is all teeth and the promise of blood, of retribution. “I fought.” A pause, their eyes flickering again as another grimace crosses their features. “…I still fight.”  
So there was hope! More hope than he’d imagined! Wels couldn’t help an answering grin, even if his wasn’t quite so violent. He opened his mouth to say something, but they interrupted him before he could even get a word out.  
“I could sing with you.” They stood straighter. “I do not really know the words, but I could sing with you.”  
Wels put the bucket down. “What’s your name?”  
They hesitated a moment, another brief struggle of blue-green-blue. “Teithor.”  
“Can you match the tune, Teithor?”  
A nod, firm and resolute. “Enough time and I can harmonise. I remember how.”  
He smiled, lifted his head, and began. “Do you hear the people sing, singing the songs of angry men…”  
After a beat, Teithor’s voice joined his, starting a low thrumming rumble of a hum before rising to match his pitch exactly as they caught onto the words.  
“…it is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”  
*********  
As the last note of the song left their lips, Teithor’s ears pricked. Someone was coming. Someone had heard them. A thrill of anticipatory adrenaline and fear shot through their veins. They gestured for the blond man to keep singing, and they fell back into humming along as they slunk to the door to listen.  
They darted back, between the blond man and the now-opening door. Thinking quick, they dropped their voice low, pitching so only he could hear.   
“Cover your ears.”  
They glanced back at him, pinning him with a deathly serious gaze as he started to argue. He shut his mouth and covered his ears. The door opened the rest of the way. Teithor drew in a deep breath, pulling on memories of sound. Their eyes closed for a blink. They turned back to the doorway.  
The air left their lungs in an ungodly, unholy ghastfire banshee _shriek_.


End file.
